The precinct was quieter than usual. Papers rustled, phones rang intermittently, and the scent of cheap coffee clung to the air like a second skin. I adjusted the collar of the coat Camille had fixed, feeling its comforting weight settle across my shoulders, and made my way toward Grant's desk.
He was hunched over a stack of paperwork, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled in that way that said he'd been too busy to care. When he noticed me, he lifted a hand in greeting, the faintest smile crossing his lips before it dropped back into tired professionalism.
"You're back," he said, echoing his words from earlier.
"Yeah," I replied, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Any updates on the Steward house? Did we get the warrants?"
Grant's face shifted, the lines around his eyes tightening. He set down his pen, fingers drumming lightly on the paperwork as he leaned back in his chair.